


Magic Crackle

by SlySama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Course Language., M/M, Magic Instablity., Mass Confusion, Mild Panic attacks., Powerful Harry, Short One Shot, Student/Professor Affairs, Temper Issues, Uncontrollable Magical Leakage., underage sex.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlySama/pseuds/SlySama
Summary: Harry's a bit angry he's been left out of the loop.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Ron Weasley & Hermione Granger Background, Severus Snape & Harry Potter - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters.  
> I am not making any profit from writing any fanfictions. It's simply for the pleasure of a good read.

The Magic Crackle.

The raven heaved a gigantic sigh as he ground his teeth, hanging his head after having screamed angrily into the now deathly silent circular chamber. His short nails dug crescents into his palms as he clenched them tightly, angry.

A steady drip, drip of red fell to the polished wooden floorboards.

‘Harry, my boy.’ The words were quiet, low, hesitant as the man stepped around the **now** rickety desk; one leg was splintered, barely remaining attached to the furniture.

His anger had gone wild in here. Upon hearing the hidden truths, though he did doubt he hadn’t been told **everything**. The place was a wreck; plush chairs for guests were upturned. The Headmaster’s precious random orbital do-hickey’s were scattered and shattered everywhere. Lower portraits were singed and hang diagonally, their occupants grumbling within.

The particularly sharp edge of one of his canines stabbed into his tongue, after he ground the teeth together harshly. He ignored the sting, and savagely threw off Dumbledore’s old withered hand that reached for his shoulder. ‘Please. Try to understand, it was for your own good, I didn’t believe you were ready to know such…Drastic life altering news.’

The black hair shifted around his contorted features as his head shook adamantly from side to side. He looked up through long dark lashes, emerald irises glowing like an Avada Kedavra.

He’d had enough. Absolutely **had enough** , of being **used** , not being **told** **ANYTHING**. This was **his** life. But nobody told him shit! How did they expect him to know **how** to Defeat Voldemort if they didn’t **tell** him anything?!

If he never **learned** anything?!

He growled; the windows shuddered and the portraits that **had** all been pretending to sleep, but were now all wide-eyed and gaping downwards, rocked on their hooks against the high-ceilinged walls.

The magic in the room was intense. **Crackling**. It was so heated that it probably, if he could even feel it, felt like the room had been converted into a volcanic sauna or they’d been transported close to the sun, or were transfigured into bacon **crackling** in a frypan drowned in oil.

He was just so fucking **ANGRY**.

So frustrated.

So, so fucking **DONE**.

He turned on a heel and stormed toward the large double doors that were, apparently, as he tried to wrench the handle from the wood, steadfastly glued shut.

_**FUCK**_.

He kicked the old wood, ignoring the “Goodness Gracious” from one of the more **sensitive** former Headmaster’s, and the ache in his toe.

‘Harry.’

He heaved, then raised his hand to punch the wood instead. Unfortunately, that was exactly when Dumbledore sighed and let them open, only for the man on the other side, to be roughly pushed backwards when Harry quickly un-crunched his fist and turned it into a palm instead.

The Potioneer stumbled as he righted himself on the roughened inner wall of the stalled revolving staircase. ‘Potter!’ He shouted.

‘Tsk.’ Harry made the noise and pushed roughly passed the older man’s shoulder, slamming him back into the wall; or…He tried to. A hand was thrown out and his arm snatched in a tight grip, causing him to stumble first, and then ‘Fuck!’ shout as he started going forwards and sideways as the stair began revolving once more.

Snape grunted and hauled him back. The teen fell into his chest and the Professor fell back into the wall. His face, pressed into Snape’s chest, Harry inhaled a shaky breath; that had been dangerous.

_Smokey. Woodsy._

He stayed there a moment, as they both assimilated to the situation. Then Snape pushed him away, his hands now on the teen’s biceps. He let go slowly but his eyes were dark as he stared at the equally angry adolescent.

The raven’s eyes were a bit glazed before the angry glow.

_The man smells nice…_

‘What the hell was the meaning of that Mister Potter?’ He drawled.

Harry shrugged, blinking away the strange thought. ‘Didn’t mean to.’

Snape’s head tilted as an eyebrow rose in disbelief.

‘Unless you’d prefer I’d have punched you…Sir?’ There was a discernible pause between the last two words; mocking the Potions Professor, he tilted his own head to the left to mirror Snape’s right tilt. ‘Wish I had.’ He whispered lowly, turning to leave immediately.

‘What was that?!’ The man growled, coming forward, hand outstretched.

Harry laughed, skipping away from the reaching hands and ran down the stairs, two at a time as they revolved. He skidded out of the Gargoyle Guardian of the Headmaster’s Office and kept laughing as he ran down the hallway.

He hadn’t been kidding; punching something might have been therapeutic. Maybe he’d go find Mal—He froze. His head shifted as he heard voices nearby. Oh. He smirked, snakelike. Hello.

Walking around the corner, he shoved his cut palms into his jeans. The blonde physically groaned as he saw the raven turning the corner. Great. The blonde turned to go in the opposite direction, but Harry grabbed an arm and shoved him against the roughened stone wall; seemingly skipping the last few meters in three seconds flat.

The blonde’s head hit the corner of a portrait of twittering girls.

‘ **Ow** Potter.’ He tried shoving but Harry kept his feet rooted and his hands up near Malfoy’s head; giving him no space. A hand, consequently, was on the portrait, covering about half of the view of two of Hogwarts most infamous rivals about to have a go at each other; well, one of them at least.  
  
‘What the hell do you want?’ He snapped, hands on the other’s chest. He was futilely trying to shove the seeker away.

The raven said nothing, simply leaned closer, using all of his weight.

The blonde swallowed, the green jewels before him were glaring, bright, narrowed and sparking; the idiot was obviously looking for a fight and he’d just, go figure, been in the right place at the wrong fucking time.

Shit. He thought.

‘Back off.’ He hissed.

‘No.’ The raven whispered, encroaching on the blonde’s space further. They were barely any further than a hand’s breath away; he could feel the Gryffindor’s breath on his face. They were breathing the same **air** ; which was oddly chocolatey with a snap and crackle of fierce magic.

‘What? Potter fuck off!’ He glared.

The jet-black head shook. ‘Don’t think so. You see—

Harry got no further as the blonde heaved an aggravated sigh and did something the raven would have never thought he would do. The blonde pulled him forwards with that hand that clenched his shirt and dragged him those last few centimetres; the raven had had to use the wall as a steadier, rather than a cage for the other. 

The emerald eyes widened when their lips met.

One of them moaned involuntarily and he was afraid it had been him as he curled his fingers on the stone underneath them. _Fuck_.

_Fuck_.

_**Holy fuck**_.

There was a tongue. **_God. My god. Whose tongue was that? Was that his?!_**

‘Nn! Puh!’ Hands pushed harsh, until he was stumbling backward with his eyes closed heavily and thudded into the opposite wall of the silent corridor.

‘Urg!’

‘The hell Potter?!’ The blonde was wiping his mouth, as he opened his eyes at the frantic and frustrated voice; he’d started it.

Harry grabbed at his own mouth, licking his lips, there a brief sting from a harsh bite, and the fingers that pressed to the swollen flesh. _Damn_. He slumped against the stone and even slid down a few inches.

‘Don’t. Fuck. What. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?! WHAT THE HELL?!’ The blonde screamed before stomping down the corridor, wiping at his mouth in aggravation. He hadn’t **meant** for Potter to **actually** shove his **tongue** down his **throat**. SHIT. What the all mighty fuck?!

He swore Potter was a fucking alien, or extremely **UNSTABLE**.

Harry whacked his head back against the wall a few times. Eyes tightly shut to the raised chattering of the twittering painted females across from him. Fuck. _FUCK!_ What the hell did I go and do that for?! Wasn’t I looking for a **fight**?!

His whole body slid to the floor, his knees drawing up to his chest. He let his head stay against the brick wall, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Well, he couldn’t fault that it had steadied his anger…Now he was just…Confused.

Fucking pompous, no good, irritating, flowery mint scented PRATS!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's getting a bit frustrated with Wulburga Black's insufferable portrait.

Magic Crackle Part Two.

‘SHUT UP! You right fucking cow! You’re no fucking walk in the park either! If I could just—’ He was grappling with the pitch curtains, trying unsuccessfully to wrench them over the infuriating woman’s insufferable portrait. It may not shut up her incessantly over-powered insults to absolutely **anybody** , but it might muffle the fucking wrenched shrew.

It would be even better if he could just **get her off the fucking wall**!

Finally, **finally** he got the curtains drawn and then sneered as he huffed and puffed, and his magic crackled dangerously in the entrance hall.

‘ **BITCH!!** ’ He spat. ‘One more. One more **FUCKING** word, and I’ll downright burn your fucking portrait with the WHOLE DAMN WALL! Do you hear me!!’ He screamed; his magic even unleashed upon the edge of the tasselled curtains, singing them before someone put them out.

He huffed, turning, and glared.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’

‘Probably because it would be entirely too disastrous **were** you to burn the **entire** house down. The house may be exceptionally grim, and it certainly does not help ones mood when dowsed in insults the moment someone **whispers** too loud. But, this is Headquarters. Needs must. Besides, someone’s already tried that method.’ A hand waved dismissively at the singed wallpaper surrounding them.

Harry ground his teeth. True. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to try again.’ He grumbled.

‘Given your increasing magical instability Mister Potter, it **would**.’ He said this with finality, striding closer on his heavy booted feet. Harry glowered at this too; who wears shoes into someone else’s fucking home? Even if the place was grim, and horrible, and the house elf was a right fucking prick, and Harry dearly wanted to add the elf’s head to the rest of the ones up the staircase that they hadn’t been able to remove yet either, but couldn’t, because **that** would bring honour to the horrible little beast…And make **him** a horrible person.

He couldn’t set it free either because the elf knew too much. Harry’s whole body twitched when a hand dropped to his dishevelled head. Eyes rising, staring through messy forelocks, he blinked at Snape’s contorted features.

‘Take a breath.’

Harry blinked. _What?_

‘Take a breath, Potter. Now.’

Harry kept blinking and then realised, as his chest began feeling heavy and their was a searing burn echoing through his veins…He may not have **been** breathing for a minute or two. He took in a large one, just to be sure.

…And promptly began hacking.

He doubled over. Apparently **too** much breath. He wheezed as a steady hand began rotating in small circles first and then larger circles over his shifting back muscles. _Ow! Fuck! That hurts!_

Eventually, it eased. He found himself kneeling on the floor, hands pressed firmly to the worn floorboards and his forehead pressed to them too. _Throat hurts!_ He swallowed a few times, taking in smaller gulps of air, trying to ease the burn he felt, before slowly righting himself. There was a brief scent of wood, smoke, and bit of cocoa coffee aromatics as they pressed close a moment. The air around them grew heated, heavy, intense; then it happened. It was like the Malfoy incident in the corridor. There was tongue, but this time it wasn’t his. It was trying its hardest to clean his tonsils, his hands were gripping tight to the fabric of the Professor’s shirt, Snape’s hands were gripping his biceps, ‘Harry are you alright?!’

Harry pushed, quickly, forcing Snape to retreat, to recompose. They were both standing back up quickly, and firmly two meters away from each other again.

‘Harry?!’ She yelled again, feet rushing.

He jumped, having been staring just as silently back at Snape. ‘Ye—Yeah.’ He swallowed a few more times. Blinking a few times. ‘Saliva went down the wrong pipe…’ He said, by way of some explanation as to his sudden choking in the front of the house.

She didn’t bat an eyelash. ‘Well, alright. Mrs Weasley says dinner’s ready now.’ She smiled and then turned around and headed back, presumably into the kitchen where she had been before now. Harry hadn’t seen her all day. Then again, he hadn’t seen much of anybody, having holed himself up in Sirius’ childhood bedroom for most of the time they’d been at Grimmauld Place.

Mm, before that he’d been at the Dursley’s for a week. He hadn’t been sure how to explain away the bruises when he’d been picked up, **BUT** fortunately, he hadn’t needed too. Apparently, his magic had done some miracle work of its own and had hidden them or healed them; he hadn’t been sure.

Either way, they weren’t there now, and nobody had asked any questions he frankly didn’t want to answer. Unfortunately, his magic seemed to be even **more** crackly; for want of a better word.

Sometimes…Though he wouldn’t mention it aloud, it felt a bit…Itchy. Like right now. He’d be lying if he said that didn’t worry him, a lot, or that he weren’t a bit apprehensively **scared** that he couldn’t seem to reign in his temper as much as he used to be able, and that his magic was working in accordance with most of this…So he had no control of it; **MOSTLY** no control over it.

He couldn’t help feeling a bit apprehensive about Snape too. The man would pop up seemingly at any point of the day, wherever Harry happened to be at the time, like right now, and then…Go about whatever he was in the same room for, silently, and incredibly dauntingly **staring** at the back of Harry’s head. The **entire** time.

The fact the man **smelt** incredible, didn’t help.

He’d been a bit on edge since his…run-in? with Malfoy. The blonde had been obsessively avoiding him at every turn; making sure they weren't in the same room as each other, or if they had no choice, then as **far** away as he could be from him. Fuck, he didn’t have the plague.

They’d kissed. Okay, he might have added a bit of tongue, and he might have wanked off an hour later in the quidditch showers, to thoughts of the blonde on his knees, with Harry’s cock down his throat…But, that didn’t mean he was going to **act** on anything.

…The blonde had started it anyway. **He’d** kissed Harry first.

He began grumbling under his breath as they strode into the kitchen together, sitting away from each other at their usual posts. Snape at the end of the table closest to the cooling cabinet. Harry midway down the table sitting wedged between Ron and Hermione, though at the moment, he appeared to be wedged between Ron and Bill; who was apparently there having dinner this evening.

He blinked, looking first at the tall handsome redhead with the long hair and the dragon tooth earring his mother always harped on, to Ron and then past **him** , wondering where Hermione was. She was there, on Ron’s left, their hands were twined under the table, on Ron’s knee.

Harry blinked again. Oh. **_OH_** ! His mouth dropped a fraction, the same his fork, clinking slightly on the plate beneath it, before snapping shut and gripped tightly. _That’s…Nice_.

His head tilted slightly. There was a low buzz, but it wasn’t the conversation that was happening around him now, as the food was dished out, no, no it was his magic, and there was tightness again. He put a hand to his chest, listened a moment and then took a deep breath.

He hadn’t realised his eyes closed until he opened them and almost toppled backwards when a head with dark eyes was in front of him, leaning around Ginny on the other side of the table.

‘Uh…’ He garbled.

The man was tall. Harry took another deep breath, held it a moment, let it out, took another, and inhaled the deep aromatic scent of the Potioneer **all** with the man staring at him intensely.

‘Harry, are you alright dear?’

‘Mm. Mm, yeah Mrs Weasley. I’m alright. Sorry.’ He shook himself, staring one final moment before shifting his sight away and down at the food he hadn’t put there, on his plate. He blinked. _Huh?_ He looked back up, but Snape was back at his seat. _Had he?_ He questioned.

Nudge. ‘Mate, are you sure you’re alright?’

He nodded silently, shoving in a forkful of…something tasty just so he didn’t have to actually **say** anything when his mind was just so…Jumbled.

[<<>>]

It was late. Everyone had gone to bed, at least, he’d **assumed** everyone had gone to bed. He was, after all, awake, in the Black Library, perusing a shelf of Defensive Spells books, another shelf below that about Offensive Spell books, and then two shelves above those, about Sex.

He was a bit more interested about the Sex.

At the moment.

He was biting his lip, head bent over a book he’d been staring at the cover illustration of for some time, having just now opened it, randomly, in the centre of the book, when he heard a creak and a hand pushed one of his to the close the book. He breathed shakily, turning.

He came face to face, or…Close enough, to Snape.

‘What are you doing up at this hour Potter, go to sleep.’ He took the book.

Harry floundered, hands scrunching in his lounge pants. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ The fact he didn’t usually, was left unsaid. He was fairly sure the only time he ever got any real sleep these days, was if he was in the infirmary and the matron gave him dreamless sleep. He was an insomniac the rest of the time.

…To many nightmares.

‘Then keep trying. It’s late.’ His tone was gentle but authoritative. He didn’t put the book back on the shelf, nor did he give it back. He held it with one hand and didn’t appear fazed by the contents; or he didn’t notice.

‘I can’t. Can I have the book back?’

Snape only stared.

‘Sir?’ He pressed.

He blinked.

‘Please?’

‘Why would you be curious about a subject like this one?’

Harry’s whole body jerked. ‘Beg your pardon?’

The book was waved. ‘Same sex intercourse.’

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Um. _Isn’t that obvious_? ‘Um.’ He whispered. He took a tentative step forward and then brought a hand up to take the book forcefully back; it was the only one on the shelf and it had seemed reluctant to be taken **off** the shelf. He wanted it back.

It was taken out of his reach and his feet took him further than intended. He fell right into Snape’s smooth chest; not that the man wasn’t wearing a shirt. In fact, it was a rather ordinary shirt, dark grey; a sleep shirt. He had dark lounge pants on too, and his feet were bare.

 _Oh_.

They were…Big feet.

He swallowed.

A hand, though he was only now just noticing was pressed firm around his hip, keeping him steady, and strangely **firmly** where he was. The book remained out of his grasp, in fact, Snape had dropped it.

He glowered, trying to remove himself to reach for it. The hand tightened.

 _Huh_ ?

He tried again, but Snape’s hands, because now **both** were there, wouldn’t let him back away. ‘Breathe.’ He heard, low, deep, velvety. Harry’s whole body shivered. ‘Harry, breathe.’ It shivered again at the whisper in his ear. **_Fuck_**. He was quite sure he’d just incautiously gotten rock hard, and his own hands were now gripping into the dark grey sleep shirt, and his nose, he thought, was deeply buried in the man’s chest; smelling, sniffing, **inhaling** that aromatic delightfulness the man walked around with.

… _Chocolatey…_

Harry blinked. A new scent.

He had no time to question it as a chin dropped onto his head, a large nose inhaled against his own aromatics, whatever those may be, the hands tightened around his hips and then a mouth was descending on his. Oh. **OH!**

‘Mm!’

The raven’s hands tightened. He thought he might tear fabric. The only thing keeping him still standing at the intense and **deep** onslaught, was Snape’s arms wrapping around him; his knees felt weak.

He could feel his magic buzz and crackle, licking around them, wrapping around them, probably intensifying whatever was happening right now. ‘Nn!’ He didn’t think he’d **EVER** had his tonsils so **thoroughly** cleaned, his entire life, by anybody. Malfoy, or female, not that Malfoy had **used** much tongue, but there had been a few licks against his own.

He garbled around the tongue devouring him and grunted when he was pushed roughly up against the bookshelf; a few books fell around them.

Snape’s arms drew his up and caged him there, pressing his wrists into the spines of many Defensive books; hard, unyielding. Mm. Yes. ‘ _Yes_ ‘ He hissed, not meaning to, he slipped into parseltongue. Snape froze a moment; everything froze for a moment. Harry swore.

But then everything sped up.

Next thing he knew, they were both naked. Incredibly naked. Gloriously naked, and both tangled among the sheets in Snape’s bedroom. It was dark, it was sinful, it was **fucking glorious**!

This affair, when they finally took the time to think about it, could and would put Snape in a difficult position with Dumbledore, and the board of Governors, of having slept with an underage student.

The fact that student was Harry Potter, probably wouldn’t help…In the slightest. But fuck. The man was…Mm! and his cock was…MM!!

They’d just have to keep their mouths shut, their minds closed, and really, really, really be careful whilst they were at Grimmauld Place which was **always** crowded with people. It was too good to stop. Neither of them wanted that, even if the man had had…a few scotches that night. They both wanted more, Harry definitely wanted more, he’d bucked up the courage for more.

He’d given the man head the morning after, despite Snape’s protestations; the man had thoroughly enjoyed it and they’d ended up having sex in the shower; hard, and fast, and so gloriously wet and soapy, right against the cooled tiles, Harry’s legs wrapped around the powerfully built Potions Master.

Who knew he was hiding all that under those voluminous robes?

…Now all Harry needed, he felt it might settle his magic, was **BOTH** of them.

Fin.


End file.
